The White Lion's Tale
by LadySmith
Summary: Morrie was the latest in a long line of kinfolk, and her parents couldn't help but hope she'd breed true to her werewolf nature. But a watched pot never boils, and why do the roarings of lions haunt Morrie's dreams? A Werewolf: The apocalypse fic. One-Sho


Thw white Lion's Tale  
  
So you want to hear my life story, do you? Fine. It won't be pretty, and flowery, as *I'm* no danm galliard, but it's a way to pass the time before the moot, and while I'm no "party animal" I'm still Fianna, and won't turn down mead if the other guy's buying. Just don't try and pass off that piss you yankees call beer on me though. Molson's is too weak for me, so that stuff is dishwater.  
  
I was one of those rare, lucky ones, raised in a household of kinfolk that knew they were kinfolk. Lotta "clued-in" kinfolk up in Canada, don't really know why. Maybe it's the strong ethnic ties, comes from considering youself a "mosaic" as opposed to a "melting pot" And the Scots are some of the worst for it, with clubs and metings, and going out in public in kilts. My third eldest brother is almost a better fighter than I am, just from beating up kids at school who said he wore a "skirt".  
  
Though kin pride is a good trait for kinfolk to have in spades, I suppose.   
  
Whatever. I'm no Philodox either.  
  
Anyway, the thing about kin families is, there can be some nasty pressures on a kid. And they get worse the lower you are on the birth order, with no Garou above you. So, if you're the ninth one born, with no Garou siblings, things can get a little... intense.  
  
It didn't really get bad untill I was fourteen, though. Maybe you grew up in one of those nosy families where your mom would ask if you'd "become a woman" and checked your underwear, and all kind of horrid invasions of privacy, but it was worse for me. "Any odd dreams last night, Morrie?" "Are you sure you don't want that steak blood rare, Morrie?" "Isn't that moon beautifull, Morrie? Just makes you feel like... singing, right?"  
  
Maybe the reason they kept bugging me was that I'd always been a bit aggressive. Always getting into trouble in school for beating up kids who made fun of me, or even just looked at me wrong. I nearly hospitalized a girl who made the sign of the cross at me one day and hissed "My mum says your lot are all devil's folk" The up side was my family never chastised me much after these kinds of things. Just asked more nosey questions.  
  
By the time I was sixteen, they'd just about given up on me, and I'm convinced to this day it them not hounding me anymore that made the dreams start.  
  
Never the same, but always similar, if you get me. It was always some kind of war, and there were always monsters, only I couldn't see them too clearly. Bit by bit I would get more details, untill finally, one night,I saw them for what they were: giant, deformed wolf things, black as midnight, with bats ears, and huge teeth. I was never scared when I saw them, just very, very, angry; something deep down boiled with hatred when I saw them, and I heard a roaring in my ears.  
  
That roaring got less figurative and more literal as the dreams went on, until finally it would sound just like someone playing an MGM intro in my ear. Seems odd to say it that way. Disrespectful.   
  
Anyway, one night, when the fog of war decended, I saw a huge white lion, standing before me, the most majestic thing I've ever seen, and while I was struck dumb at the presence before me, huge black wolves lept from nowhere and tried to rip it to pieces. Without heed to my own safety, I leapt at them to defend the noble beast.  
  
I never told my family about the dreams, funnily enough. I figured they'd make to big a deal out of it. So it was one hell of a shock for them when, in the middle of the dream I just told you, I leapt out (or maybe I should say through) the bedroom window and started tearing into the tree in the front yard with crinos claws and fangs.  
  
My eldest sister was the one with the quickest wit; she filled a bucket with water, ran out into the yard, and dumped it over my head (Well, at my head; I was quite tall at the time.) This had the effect of getting me out of frenzy and waking me up, letting me notice that I was soaking wet, naked, and had a blanket over my head. When I took it off, I saw all my family gathered in front of me just staring, and they all seemed so much shorter than usual, and my mother sank to her knees with her hand to her mouth saying, "Great Gaia. White. Pure White."  
  
And so I was. Now, before you get a lot of silly ideas, let me just say that I have no illusions about my tribe. I am Fianna, a child of Stag before Lion. The Howlers are dead, and I'm here to see that their decendents stay that way. There must be something to those old tales of fosterage and blood mixing, though, for it sure came out in me, eh? Not a red hair on me.  
  
Well, off to the caern with me, quick as lightning. There was such a huge deal made out of me that I almost left. But to be fair, all that attention is kind of nice. Among the Fianna though, such a sign of favor entitles you to getting to "prove yourself" so my rite of passage was no bed of roses.  
  
And imagine everyone's surprise when I went on my totem quest with a buch of new cliath I'd hardly met and Lion himself appeared, and then promptly told the others with me that their future was not with him, they must go on as a pack in search of another patron.  
  
And despite that it wasn't me who said anything, I was always seen as uppity after that. I don't care, Lion has always told me I was meant for a pack, it just wasn't them. They had other duties before gaia. To restate myself somewhat: I'm no Theurge, so don't ask me.  
  
So here I am, with a totem bond and a great charge before Stag and Lion and Gaia to go kill as many spirals as possible, and no pack! Maybe I'll find one here. So off I go, sept to sept, looking for those Lion deems "worthy". And (forgive me!) but he's a right picky bastard; I sometimes wonder if he knows just how few Garou there are, never mind Fianna, with pure white fur! Not silver, mind you, oh no, but white! Not that he's ever said those were his criteria, just that ~These are not they, continue to seek your brothers~. But not a one he's rejected has my colouring, so I wonder...   
  
Anyway, it's been more or less a straight line between the Kildonnen Caern in Winnipeg and here. I've just been following my instincts, hoping I make the next caern before not to long. I've no fetishes or talens to my name, and no ability with making them, so chiminage more or less ends up being "oh, an ~ahroun~? Well, there's a nest of wyrm beasties nearby..." Not that I can complain, it's gotten me a fair share of glory and a chance to face those debased black bastards in the flesh.  
  
I am mighty sick of life on the road, though, and I hope this is my last stop. It might be; I've got a good feeling about this place. Cold, rainy, foggy, and rocky. Like my da's tales of "the auld sod".  
  
Even if I don't stay for good, it'll be nice to stay here a while. And I'm sure I will. Everybody always has work for an Ahroun.  
  
And as long as I'm killing spirals, Lion doesn't find fault with me.  
  
Thanks for the ale. Maybe I'll meet you on the battlefield, and you'll see me as gaia meant me. 


End file.
